


The Salt of a Sailor

by Minxie



Series: Chase/Josh verse [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: KINK: D/s, M/M, WARNING: Minor Character Death (off screen)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 12:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>With that single word – sir – the scales tip, and Chase's focus slides away from the wallow of death and towards the need for confirmation.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Salt of a Sailor

**Author's Note:**

> **Prereader:** @aislinntlc ♥s you, bb!  
>  **AN:** Third in the [Chase/Josh verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/25553), a year, maybe two, after [Critical Pressure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/525328).

The storm rages just outside the window. Rain slashes through the air, and splatters the glass of the patio doors. Wind pushes loose sand across the deck and whips the fronds of the coconut palms into motion, lashing into each other with quick snaps of green. Lightning streaks out, dancing across the sky and colliding with the water. Thunder rolls out seconds later, shaking the windows and sending the kitten on a mad flight to the safety of the bedroom.

Through the haze, Chase can barely make out the white caps of the roiling ocean. Staring out towards the coastline, he says, "It's appropriate."

"The storm?" Josh asks, slipping an arm around Chase's waist. "How do you figure?"

"The sea is saying goodbye." Chase breaks free from Josh. It's too soon. He feels like he's betraying Trent if he accepts comfort, shifts his thoughts away from his friend and mentor. It's stupid, and he knows it. Trent wanted him happy. Even at his most annoying, Josh makes him happy. "As much grief as Trent gave me for my love of diving, that old man had nothing but seawater in his veins. Not a boat out there he couldn't captain."

Knowing that Trent was close to the end did nothing to prepare Chase for the reality. The days in the hospital, and then dealing with the funeral home and the memorial service, left Chase teetering on the edge. Had they taken the boats out to scatter the ashes today, he'd have finally broken. Adding his salty tears to the briny ocean waters, where they'd be hidden in something bigger.

Another burst of lightning illuminates the sky. Mother Nature is smiling down on him. Giving him a day, possibly two, to regroup. Time to pull himself together before the final goodbye.

"He left me High Seas," Chase says. "All of it. The building, the boats. Everything."

Chase had found out when he went digging through the cabinet, searching for the file that Trent said was there. The one that contained his wishes for cremation and burial at sea.

"You sound surprised."

"I just…" Chase drags a hand through his hair. "I'd rather have him here, drinking whiskey and bitching about the price of milk."

"We all would, babe." 

Understanding. Josh has been nothing but understanding. And all Chase has given in return is neglect. Chase shakes his head. He'll screw this up, this awesome thing he has with Josh, if he keeps to the path he's been walking for the past month.

The scent of whiskey fills the air. Josh pushes a cut glass tumbler into Chase's hand. "Drink that and then go change. No reason to ruin a perfectly good suit."

Chase sips the whiskey and then, cocking a brow, asks, "Ruin a good suit?"

Josh offers up a sad smile. "Can't tell me you aren't planning on going out there in that crap. Rain and sand will destroy that suit."

"Actually, I wasn't planning on going out there," Chase lies. He'd been giving it thought. Now, after seeing the look in Josh's eyes, he has something more important than his grief to entertain. Draining the glass, he sets it on a side table. "I was thinking about taking you to bed. Been too many days since I've had you beside me."

Endless days at the hospital, eighteen of them. A week with hospice in Trent's house, keeping vigil until the end, followed by making all of the arrangements. It's been close to a month since Chase has done more than buss a kiss over Josh's cheek on the way out the door, a solid week that he hasn't even done that. He owes Josh one hell of an apology.

Grabbing Josh's hand, he tugs until they're flush against one another. Looking into Josh's eyes, he says, "You've put up with so much. Thank you."

"I haven't…"

"Just say, 'You're welcome,'" Chase instructs. 

"You're welcome." Curling into Chase's embrace, Josh adds, "Sir."

With that single word – _sir_ – the scales tip, and Chase's focus slides away from the wallow of death and towards the need for confirmation. The promise of the sun breaking through the clouds and of another day dawning. Chase suddenly wants more than a hug, or a chaste kiss and soft words.

He needs to touch and taste, to _feel_. 

"Joshua," he whispers. 

He takes Josh's mouth in a bruising – _life-affirming_ – kiss. He scrapes his teeth over Josh's jaw, bites down hard on Joshua's neck. Violent. Needy. Wanton.

"Bedroom," Chase gasps, urgency tainting his words, making his movements jerky and stilted. Brushing a thumb over the bite mark, he says, "I need…"

"I know," Josh replies, turning towards the bedroom. "Believe me, I know."

Δ ∴ Δ

They're naked by the time they reach the bedroom. Their clothes mark a sloppy, erratic trail over the tile floor. Buttons are scattered over the living room, the torn remains of Josh's shirt on the chair by the window. They land on the bed in a tangled heap of arms and legs, caught in the disco flicker of the lightning.

Chase's hand scrabbles across the bedside table. The alarm clock crashes against the floor, the cheap plastic casing splintering into pieces. 

His hand shakes as he rips open the condom, everything he's been holding back, all of the emotions and the anger and the fear – Jesus, fuck, the fear – working its way out through his fingers. "Josh…"

"Easy, babe." Josh's hand closes over Chase's, and together they guide the condom over Chase's cock.

And then Chase's cock to Josh's hole.

It's tight, and hot, and Chase snaps his hips forward, forcing his way into Josh's ass. 

"Jesus," Chase moans, realizing there's been no prep, that the pre-lubed condom needed a fuckton more lube. Canting his hips back, meaning to pull out and start the fuck over, with proper attention to Josh's ass, he rasps out, "Joshua… we need…"

Josh rolls his hips, pushing back onto Chase's dick, taking him in with one steady move. "Oh, _fuck_."

"I should tan your ass…" Then Josh squeezes his ass, clamps down on Chase's cock, and Chase's words break off with a sharp inhale. "Again, boy."

Josh complies. 

"Come on," Chase snaps, hands on Josh's hips, thrusting and retreating in a fast, steady rhythm. "Again."

"Goddammit!" Josh whimpers and his dick empties out, untouched. "Oh, fuck. _Fuck._ "

Chase tenses, his knuckles straining with the fury of his grip, and comes. 

Silently, Chase slips free of Josh's body. He rolls to the side and stretches one arm out, skating a hand over Josh's stomach. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," Josh replies, grasping Chase's hand in his own. 

Chase doesn't believe him at all. "Joshua."

"I will always be what you need," Josh says. 

It's a line from their contract, repeated by both of them.

"I've failed you on that part…"

"You've been hurting," Josh says, interrupting. 

Chase shakes his head. "Not an excuse."

"Nope," Josh says, curling into Chase's side. "It's a fact. Now, hush. I'm tired."

"Go to sleep, boy." Chase busses a kiss over Josh's brow. "We'll talk about your smart mouth tomorrow."

Δ ∴ Δ

Once Josh's breathing settles into the heavy huff of sleep, Chase presses another kiss to his forehead and slips out of bed. And then moves further away from Josh, until, barefoot and naked, he's ankle deep in the Gulf.

The storm has quieted into a steady rain, the wind and lightning from earlier obvious only in the damage left behind. 

Just like all that remains of Trent is in those he left behind. That's him. Him and Josh and Katie. 

And High Seas. Trent's baby, his legacy. 

Looking out over the horizon, Chase drops down, weighted by the knowledge that it's all in his hands now, resting on his shoulders. Water laps around his waist, swirling around his balls and cock.

"Goddammit, Trent." Chase's voice cracks, his throat tightening against the words that want to bubble out. And then, as the tight knot of hurt breaks wide open and the tears finally flow free, " _Goddammit._ "

∴ _end_ ∴


End file.
